Macabre
by Casix Thistlebane
Summary: A ghost story about love and cruelty. What happens when Willow can't let go? warning: character death


Disclaimer: As always, the characters are not mine.  
  
Author's note: Yep, 's time for Casix to be dark again,  
  
Macabre by Casix Thistlebane  
  
"Willow."  
  
It came so softly that she thought she may have imagined it. Kennedy slept on, completely unaware, but Willow sat awake as she had the last three nights, waiting to hear his voice.  
  
"Willow."  
  
That was how it started, just her name in that soft, inflectionless voice, just barely a whisper in the still air. She worried about him. She answered back.  
  
"Xander?"  
  
"Willow."  
  
She turned her head to search the dark, but couldn't find him.  
  
"Xander, where are you?"  
  
"Willow."  
  
She couldn't pin point his voice. "Xander, TELL me."  
  
"I'm here." She turned toward the window, but still there was nothing. "Willow, what have you done?"  
  
She spun back toward the door of the bedroom, and there he stood, his pale skin glowing almost green in the moonlight. He took a step forward, his bare feet leaving puddles of sea water on the floor where he walked.  
  
"I-I don't understand."  
  
He seemed to stare at something in the distance, his eyebrows pulling toward each other. "It's cold. . . ." He looked at her. His right eye was milky gray. "What have you done?"  
  
"N-nothing! I haven't even cast a spell–"  
  
His left eye was still brown, but clouded, like sea glass. A crack ran through the center of it. Each time his gaze moved, she could hear the two halves grind against each other.  
  
He looked lost.  
  
"Then, how–"  
  
"The ship." Willow stood up from the bed. She could smell the brine, and a hint of decay. "Your latest slayer, she was a sailor. Do you remember?"  
  
Xander remained very still. His hair should have been weighted down by the water, but it stuck out at strange angles, gummed into clumps by sand. "Of course I do."  
  
"The boat was lost, Xander, three days ago, off the Cape of Good Hope. We've been so worried–"  
  
"There was a storm. . . ." He wasn't looking at her again, but through. Then he refocused. "But what am I doing HERE?"  
  
Willow shook her head, unsure of how to answer. He grew angry. He stepped forward, his footsteps splashing, and reached toward her. She didn't flinch, even as his fingers passed through her cheek. The sea smell increased, and for a moment she could hear the waves, then he pulled his hand back.  
  
"I'm dead, Willow."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Then why am I here? Don't. . . ." He lowered his head and peered at her through what remained of his eyelashes. "Don't I deserve to go to heaven?"  
  
At that moment, Willow wanted nothing more than to hold him to her, let him squeeze her ribs and wet her nightshirt with salt water. Her hand slipped through his. "YES, Xander. More than anyone else I know."  
  
He stared into her, his eyes narrowing. "What did you DO, Willow?"  
  
"I didn't–" Willow gasped, and Kennedy shifted. "Oh, Goddess,"  
  
"You did this to me."  
  
"I didn't kill you."  
  
"No, the ocean did that." He tilted his head, and sea water rand down his face from the glass eye. "But–"  
  
"Oh Goddess," Willow closed her eyes. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Tell me, Willow."  
  
"On the bluff. After Tara–I'm so sorry, Xander!"  
  
"What. Did. You. Do?"  
  
"A spell. I cast a spell. The black magic had to go somewhere, and I couldn't stand the idea of losing anyone else. You-you saved me, and you were holding me, and I couldn't let it happen again." She opened her eyes again, and he was watching her, silently, his cloudy, water-logged gaze somehow piercing into her. "I cast a spell so that no one I loved could ever leave me. Not like Tara did."  
  
Xander shook his head and backed away. "That's-that's why I can't–"  
  
Willow nodded miserably.  
  
"So none of us can leave. Even when we die. . . ." He caught her eye again. "Anya?"  
  
"I'm so sorry, Xander."  
  
"Of course." He turned his head, his eyes closing. His eyelids were the blue-black of heavy bruises. "YOU didn't love her."  
  
Willow swallowed thickly. "I didn't even know it had worked, u-until now. Are you okay?"  
  
He laughed, a painful, gurgling noise. "Am I okay? I'm dead, Willow. I'm a ghost. I drowned, and now I get to spend eternity leaving water stains on the floor boards. I can't even leave this room, if you're in it, and–" He fisted his hands in his hair, actually pulling a large clump from his scalp. He stared at it, then choked. Willow wondered for a moment if ghosts could throw up. "And I'm so cold," The last words were that same soft, almost whisper that he'd first called her name with.  
  
She reached for him, but he jerked away. "Don't touch me. Or. . . try to touch me."  
  
"Please, Xan,"  
  
"I can't-I can't do this, Willow. I don't want to do this! Let me go!"  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Let me go, please, Willow, just let me be dead!"  
  
"Xander, I can't!" Tears flowed freely down her cheeks now, and the lights snapped on.  
  
Kennedy's arms wrapped around her, holding her while she sobbed. Xander was nowhere to be seen. "He came back, didn't he."  
  
Willow could only nod into her shoulder. Kennedy clutched her tighter.  
  
"Why won't he just leave you alone? Why does he keep coming back?"  
  
Willow choked, then sobbed harder.  
  
"I'm sorry, honey, I know you loved him, but he's torturing you. I wish he'd just leave."  
  
Willow shoved her away with an explosive "NO!" She shifted her gaze to the room. "He can't leave me. I need him."  
  
A cold, angry breeze swept the room, then settled. Kennedy's arm was over her shoulder again.  
  
"I know, sweetie, but this is. . . it's cruel."  
  
"No." Willow smiled softly. "It's not cruel. It's love."  
  
The End 


End file.
